Blind Hope
by SpencerBrown
Summary: Sequel to CM's Blind Anger. The scientists have it in for Quatre and pilot 04 is ready to give up, but Heero refuses to let that happen. A touch of 1x4
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my notebook.

Notes: 1+4/4+1 friendship, or maybe a hint of something more?

A sequel to Cugami Michiru's Blind Anger. Check it out!

**Blind Hope**

Quatre woke slowly and painfully. _What happened?_ He was lying crumpled on the bottom of Sandrock's cockpit. The suit was resting on its side and Quatre was lying on one of the vid-screens.

He tried to push himself up to the main control panel and was sharply reminded of the bullet in his right arm. As he fell back against the screen he also remembered why he was not strapped into his seat. A long shallow gash ran from the top of his shoulder, down across his chest. He had received the wound on a previous mission. It was heavily bandaged, but it ran right under Sandrock's flight harness. Every time Quatre was jolted the straps would rub into the cut, reopening the wound. When his present mission was completed, he had undone the harness for the flight home.

_Home. What happened?_ He had completed his mission and was returning to base...? _Where am I?_

Sudden fear seized him. He ignored the pain in his arm to reach up and punch the visual controls. A blazing rouge desert spread before him. The sun hung like a blood stained ruby on the seemingly vertical horizon.

_Sunset... already? What time is it? _He bit his lip and reached to press another button. As he fell back, gasping, a number appeared beside his head. He grimaced. 7:30 PM. _Heero is having a fit._

Quatre had left the house at 2:00 this morning and was scheduled to return within twelve hours. The mission was another of the highly challenging and dangerous type. He seemed to receive nothing else, lately. Not that any of the pilots' missions were easy, but for several weeks, now, those missions with the least chance of success had invariably fallen to Quatre. The blond boy had been fighting a losing battle with exhaustion and depression, and had nearly ended his own life before Heero had noticed the situation and intervened.

Quatre's humanity had been eaten away by pain and relentless killing. He had not even flinched or felt remorse for killing his own sister. He was a soulless monster. The conscience and compassion that had made him valuable to this war were gone. What good was he now? The war did not need another Heero Yuy, one was fully capable of succeeding on his own. Quatre's prolonged exhaustion was becoming a weakness in the team, and despite his loss of compassion, he did not want to be responsible for their deaths. Beyond the battlefield... no one needed him. The scientists obviously wanted him gone, so why fight?

He had felt the cold metal between his teeth and been ready to pull the trigger when Heero had woken up and stopped him. _No, he had probably been awake and watching the whole time, just waiting until he was sure of my intentions._ Heero had stopped Quatre from shooting himself and run after him (both legs wounded) when he had fled life the second time, off the top of a cliff.

After halting his plummet and hauling him back onto flat ground, Heero had stated flatly that he would not let Quatre die.

_And I still fought him._

"_Life for a life. Your debt is paid, you can leave now Heero. Let me be."_

_Heero slammed his fist hard into the ground, breathing heavily._

_Quatre stood and walked towards the cliff again. Heero immediately followed, stopping him with fingers like frightened talons around his arm._

_Quatre shook his head and said, "I will not jump. Not today." He then looked down on the cliff, where he was _supposed_ to be, but for Heero. "Maybe next time when you're nowhere near." He looked at the other boy and found himself staring to a very scared child. He blinked in surprise at the look of fear, anger, and relief in Heero's eyes. He always thought that those cobalt blue orbs would always look cold and uncaring, but if anyone looked closer, they'd see it..._

_...Heero's heart._

_Quatre touched Heero's shoulders and shook him a little, "Heero?" The other hadn't moved for quite some time now, just stared at him. "Heero? Are you okay?"_

_Heero blinked at Quatre's soft shaking. He looked at Quatre and replied, "Then I'll always be near." He pulled Quatre close to him in an embrace._

_Quatre was shocked to say the least. _Then I'll always be... near?_ And he was pulled into an embrace, by Heero? Who wouldn't be surprised? "Heero... wha...?"_

"_You'll never jump..." Heero tightened his embrace on Quatre, "...because I'll always be near to stop you and carry you back up if you choose to fall."_

_Quatre understood, and he smiled serenely. He buried himself deeper in the embrace and nuzzled his nose in Heero's neck. He embraced Heero and whispered in his ear, "Arigatou... for being here... arigatou... for caring... arigatou..."_

_Heero looked at Quatre, and for the rarest opportunity, allowed himself to smile at Quatre. "Hai... I'll always be near."_

_- CM_

_I've been missing for over five hours. Heero will kill me himself when I get there. I have to figure out where I am._

As the sun dropped lower, the rusty view deepened to burgundy waves. Quatre scanned the dunes on his screen, but this area of the desert had no mountains or other features the Arab could use to orient himself. Finally he spied an odd looking image on the screen beneath him. He rolled carefully to see the strange shape, but as his fingers brushed the 'image' it smeared across the screen. Quatre blinked as he realized it was the pool of blood that had formed beneath his wounded arm.

The entire desert was glowing the exact same shade. He shivered. _I have to get back._

Taking a deep breath, Quatre pulled himself back up into the crooked pilot's seat. He strapped himself in, grasped the controls, and slowly brought Sandrock to his feet. Gasping, he flipped on the suit's navigation system. Warm blood ran down over his fingers from the reopened bullet wound, and he hissed as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He closed his eyes and rested a moment to allow his spinning head to slow. The mansion was only a few kilometers to the north, so the blond pilot set Sandrock to walking. He didn't really trust himself flying again, anyway.

Quatre sighed heavily. _Heero's going to have a fit._

**x x x**

Heero arrived wearing his usual stoic expression. Trowa had called him the moment Sandrock appeared on the mansion's extensive surveillance system. He had been hidden away in his room, searching through his computer for any trace of Quatre. _I need to know if the mission was successful. Just gathering information,_ he had told himself, but in truth searching the electronic jungle for the blond boy and his golden Gundam.

Quatre had been due back about 2:00 PM. Heero had been able to keep himself from worrying until nearly 3:00 PM, at which time he activated his trusty laptop and began to look for any evidence that might alert him to the success or failure of his friend's mission. Of course, he knew the chances of finding anything were slim, but his endless hours spent before this screen had not been for nothing. Anyway, even without results this was better than listening to Duo's endless chattering and Wufei's grumbling.

The longer the pilots were together, the more Heero found himself gravitating toward Trowa, the silent one. Well, silent when compared to Duo, but wasn't everyone quiet when compared to the rambunctious American?

Actually, Trowa was far from silent, but unlike the braided wonder who spouted meaningless babble until everyone's ears had gone conveniently numb, Trowa reserved his words for times of importance. When the brunette boy spoke, everyone listened, and for the most part, he spoke only with Heero and Quatre.

Despite his unmoved exterior, Heero was flattered by this communication. He and Trowa were connected by their mutual stoicism. He often felt they were the only two pilots who understood each other. Trowa's willingness to open himself to Quatre was different. Anyone could speak to Quatre, because Quatre listened.

Until the last few weeks, the Arab was the only one who ever listened to Duo anymore. The other pilots would simply tune the chestnut maned pilot out, while Quatre would sit attentively and absorb, if not every word, then at least the underlying concerns. Duo needed to talk to assure himself that he was alive. Embodying the God of Death took its toll on the young man. His constant activity (which drove the other four up the walls) was a way to link him firmly with the world of the living and separate himself from his own double bladed weapon. All the pilots knew this, but Quatre was the only one with the patience to indulge Duo in this need. _Until now, when it takes all his energy and concentration just to survive. _

And Trowa? Trowa was Quatre's best friend, and Heero often envied him this position. The two had been the first pilots to meet on Earth, and since then had formed a special bond. Trowa was the only person Heero knew to whom Quatre would reveal his inner feelings. _He spends all his time listening to others' burdens, but hardly ever shares his own. _

Yet, as he slowly succumbed to the threatening darkness, Quatre had not turned to Trowa for help. He had not asked for help from anyone. He had silently hidden the doomed battle from everyone, and when the abyss had become too great, he calmly fell . . .

...and Heero had pulled him back up from the depths.

Not Trowa, the best friend, not Duo, the intuiter, Heero, the stone pilot who a year ago would not have thought twice about a fellow pilot blowing his brains out. That was what these months with Quatre had taught him; that life is valuable, and to care for and preserve that life at all costs. That was what they were fighting for, after all, to save the lives of the people on Earth and the colonies. Thus he had pulled Quatre from the abyss, and was daily struggling to hold him back, safe from the drop.

Heero strode quickly through the halls and into the hanger where their suits were stored. As he moved to Sandrock the blond pilot heard his approach and leaned out to smile somewhat sheepishly at his friend.

"Gomen. I did not mean to be gone this long." There was a smudge of blood on the boy's pale cheek, but it did not appear to be a wound, more as though it had been wiped there accidentally.

Heero frowned. "Are you wounded?"

Quatre grimaced. "Yes, but not seriously. A bullet in the arm."

"What are you doing?"

Quatre winced further back into the suit, blond head nearly disappearing behind the hatch. "Cleaning up."

Heero's frown deepened as he jumped gracefully up to Sandrock's open cockpit. Quatre was crouched awkwardly in front of the pilot's seat, rag in hand, bucket of darkly pink water at his feet, wiping long trails of blood from Sandrock's left vid-screen.

"What happened?" Hero asked, glaring at the thick crimson rivulets.

"I... I think I passed out on the way back."

Heero wanted to yell, to curse, to ask what Quatre had been thinking, why he hadn't radioed for help, if not as soon as the mission was complete, then the moment he had regained consciousness. Undirected anger flared up inside him, but never reached his set features.

Whoever was orchestrating this underhanded attack on Quatre would pay. Whether it was the scientists or another influential party, Heero didn't care. He would deliver on them the pain they had caused the young blond tenfold.

Quatre glanced up nervously at Heero's silence, bringing the dark eyed pilot out of his violent musings.

"Where?"

"About 26 kilometers south of here." Heero pictured his friend crumpled in his fallen Gundam, the pool of blood growing beneath him.

The anger returned.

Quatre took a final slow swipe with the rag and tossed it in the bucket. He stood and turned to Heero, swaying as another wave of dizziness struck him. Heero grasped his shoulders to keep him from falling, but the smaller boy winced as Heero's hand brushed his wound.

"Quatre?" Sapphire eyes slowly rose to meet his own cobalt blue. They spoke of exhaustion and pain, both longstanding and deep.

Once Quatre had regained his balance, the boys jumped down from the mobile suit. Heero did not miss Quatre's hiss of pain as he landed, or the slight limp as they moved down the hall.

Once inside Quatre's room, Heero directed the patient to a chair, gently removed the blond's shirt, and opened the waiting first aid kit. _Thank you, Trowa._ The bullet was still lodged against the bone in Quatre's upper arm, and Heero had to find the damn thing and pull it out before he could dress the wound. Quatre had swallowed some pain killers, but they wouldn't kick in for a while.

Heero gritted his teeth and went to work, trying to be as gentle as possible. Though he was skilled in battlefield medicine, he had never put any effort into being gentle before, and cursed his uncaring fingers. Every slight wince that instinctively drew Quatre's arm further from him twisted something inside Heero, painfully.

Quatre had his eyes and jaw pressed tightly shut. His skin was paper white. His breath would catch whenever a touch was too painful, despite his best efforts to keep it even and controlled. It was the only admission of pain he showed, and Heero was once again impressed by the seemingly fragile boy's hidden strength. At last Heero drew the bullet from his friend's flesh and proceeded to clean and bandage the wound. Once it was bound tightly, he moved on to Quatre's shoulder and chest.

**x x x**

Quatre leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, willing his body to heal. The shallow shoulder wound did not hurt as much as the bullet, and as the pain faded, exhaustion rose to take its place. He was vaguely aware of Heero's callused hands moving efficiently over his skin, and a sudden warmth sparked in his chest. _He cares. Heero Yuy actually cares... about... me... _The idea was still so new and seemingly impossible, the simple warmth it brought was enough to dull the pain and carry him off to sleep.

Consciousness returned slowly, as Quatre blinked up into a pair of cobalt blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head.

"Don't be. You need to sleep..."

"...but I have to send my report to the scientists first." He finished for him. Heero nodded.

Quatre sighed and pushed himself gingerly from the chair. He felt stiff and shaky. He remained still for a moment to be sure of his balance, and could feel Heero's eyes on him, ready to assist if he started to pass out again, but he really did not want to need that assistance. Once he was sure on his feet - or as sure as he could be while so short on blood - he crossed to his desk and clicked on the computer. Heero's eyes were still on him as he sat down and began typing. He knew the other pilot was only concerned for him, but the desire to shrink away from that penetrating gaze remained.

After assuring himself that Quatre would not need him, Heero rose and walked to the door. "Do you want any food?"

"No, thank you."

Heero waited a moment longer before leaving quietly.

Quatre breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes for a moment. When he tried to open them again he realized this had been a mistake, as his body had taken the cue to relax, and now it would be much harder to complete this report. Light blue eyes glanced to the soft pillows lying only a few feet away, but turned resignedly back to the computer. He had gone without sleep for days now, he could surely last another hour. The letters blurred and Quatre shook his head and blinked several times, trying to make his eyes focus on the screen before him. Maybe he _should_ have asked Heero to stay, he did not want to pass out and wake up with the keyboard imprinted on his face, and this report had to be sent soon so as not to arouse suspicion.

_No. I couldn't have asked him to stay. He's already done so much._

He sighed, focusing all his attention on the screen and his report.

The base was destroyed, wiped clean of life, information, and any possibility of threat. The required files were saved safely onto a disk in Sandrock's computer and were being transmitted with this message, hidden beneath two more layers of encryption and three more secured codes. Since the message itself was wrapped in four layers of encryption and five codes, the chance that it could be discovered and deciphered was too small even to be of concern to a Gundam pilot.

He had infiltrated the base as a guard, reached the objective computer terminal with minimal casualties, hacked past the security, copied the data and released a killing virus into the computer. This last step was really not necessary, since the entire system was about to be blown to bits, but none of the five were trained to be anything less than thorough, and the virus would also wipe out any system that might be connected to this database. He had been discovered on his way out, but returned to his Gundam and proceeded to demolish the base from the outside in. The few mobile suits stationed there posed no serious problem to Sandrock's superior abilities, and when they had been dispatched, he had used the specially installed rockets to completely level the compound. No building was left standing, no life spared. The mission was accomplished.

They were all dead, as _he_ should be -- as he should be, but for Heero.

He had begun the return to their present base as scheduled, but an unexpected malfunction in Sandrock's rockets, caused by damage received while battling the enemy suits, halted his progress for several hours, as he was forced to repair the damage in the desert. Thus, the lateness of his report.

Quatre sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He was feeling very light-headed again, but knew there was still something missing from the message. Oh yes, the damage report. He carefully listed the damage done to Sandrock during battle, even remembering fuzzily to add the conjured engine failure and his fictional repair work. He dutifully reported the bullet in his arm - such injuries were not unusual among their group - but left out details of its location and the amount of blood he supposed he had lost. Even half conscious, the instinct to hide weakness from the scientists was strong. Any weakness could easily be used against him...

_: If any pilot fails to complete a mission, kill him. :_

Heero had told him about the Doctors' command. At first he'd found it morbidly hilarious. They clearly thought him too weak to continue as a pilot, yet they somehow couldn't manage to kill him on their own. They had to sic Heero on him like some twisted version of a hunting dog.

With time, though, his feelings had changed to some strange emulsion of sadness, frustration and fury. He had been ready and willing to give them exactly what they wanted. He had leapt from that cliff with no regrets, but Heero had stopped him. Heero had cared. Heero had cared enough to go against protocol, safety and a direct order just to save Quatre's own worthless life, the very life he had been ordered to take. Quatre may not have regrets about his death, but Heero clearly would. That was his reason for being here, for going on, for refusing to just collapse where he had been in the sand and let the lifeblood seep from his body.

Heero would care. Heero did care, and the bastard scientists had betrayed his trust and his nearly unflappable loyalty. Quatre was not going to let them get away with it. Damn them all for asking something so horrible of their most loyal soldier. Quatre wasn't sure what would come next, but by Allah he would survive long enough to make them pay for what they'd done to Heero.

...and then, well, if he could rid the world of the evil scientists and the vile monster he had become all at once, all the better. The others, with their strong spirits, lead by Heero's pure heart, would surely end this war, once his own weakness was no longer dragging them down.

Maybe -- maybe that was the best way. Maybe he _should_ have let the desert take him, but it would hurt Heero. Heero would never have forgiven him for giving up. Heero would have been betrayed, again, and that was something Quatre swore by heaven and earth he would never do. Never again.

No, he was not ready to die... not yet.

**x x x**


	2. Chapter 2

**x x x**

Heero left Quatre's room reluctantly. His friend should be in bed, not typing reports to the very men who were trying their best to kill him.

Heero snorted angrily as he turned a corner into the kitchen. None of it made any sense! Why kill Quatre? He was as strong a pilot as any of them, and very possibly the best tactician and leader. Heero had no doubt that the blond Arabian would be the one to bring them together to finally defeat OZ. As of now, the five were all living under one roof, but only out of sheer necessity. Wufei complained constantly, Trowa and Heero were nearly silent, and Duo was driving them all insane. They would have to learn to get along, or at least work as a team before they could win this war, and Quatre was the only one who could make that happen. He was the first to create any alliance among the pilots when he stopped fighting Trowa and came out of his Gundam with his hands raised. That was a move not even Heero was brave enough to make, and he had the bullet scar in his leg to prove it. Next, the blond had taken Duo under his wing in the desert, and the two had been fighting side by side ever since.

What was it about this golden boy that could unite the most unlikely people? _And why would the scientists want to kill our most probable chance for victory? _Without Quatre, Heero felt sure the five pilots would remain at odds, _and if we can't even fight together, how can we unite two forces at war?_

The dark-haired pilot snorted again in frustration as he opened the refrigerator. Despite his refusal of food, Heero was determined to get something into his friend's stomach. _Anything with sugar, he's lost way too much blood._ Quatre had cleaned most of the sticky substance from Sandrock's screen before Heero's arrival, but the size of the remaining smear, the color of the water, and the extreme pallor of the normally pale boy's skin all told him that Quatre was in fairly poor shape, and would probably be in bed for days.

_That's good, he needs the rest, but he'll need an excuse._ Heero poured a glass of juice and began to walk back to Quatre's room.

Trowa was waiting for him in the hall, his deep emerald eyes asking all the questions his expression, or lack thereof, would not reveal.

Rather than prolong this conversation by making Trowa ask, Heero decided to give the taller boy all the information he could. "He's been shot in the arm, deep, and lost a lot of blood. He passed out over the desert on the way here, but woke up and made it back. He's typing his report now. He's about to drop. We shouldn't have any trouble keeping him in bed for a few days, but he needs an excuse for Professor H."

"No weaknesses." Trowa nodded in understanding and looked down the hall. "Merci. Go on. If he is as exhausted as you say, he should not be alone."

Heero turned, then paused and turned back. "Arigatou." Trowa cocked one delicate eyebrow in question. "For the med kit." The brunet smiled ever so slightly and dropped his eyes. He cared about Quatre as well.

Heero nodded his thanks and continued down the hall, juice in hand. Upon reaching Quatre's door he knocked lightly, but receiving no answer, he pushed it open to find its occupant asleep on the desk. Heero crossed to the computer and read over his exhausted friend's shoulder, finding out how much Quatre had been able to complete before falling asleep. To his surprise and admiration, Heero found the report to be completely finished, it's contents only needing to be sent.

He placed his hand on Quatre's shoulder. The small pilot's head was resting on his wrist on the desk, and the position could not be comfortable, not that Quatre was in any condition to notice or care. The blond head stirred, slightly, but did not rise. Heero softly spoke his friend's name, and was relieved when Quatre slowly sat up. Heero could feel him sway slightly in the chair, and saw his fingers press tightly to the desk for support. After a long moment Quatre turned slightly so he could see Heero over his shoulder.

"Come on," the pilot of Wing said quietly, as he helped Quatre to stand and supported him over to the bed. He left for a moment to allow Quatre to change into his pajamas, and returned to find the blond boy sitting on the edge of his bed, obviously waiting for Heero to return. As he approached, Quatre turned confused blue eyes up to meet him. When he didn't speak, Heero simply nodded toward the leg that was hanging gingerly over the edge of the bed. Quatre returned the nod and Heero knelt on the floor, sitting the first aid kit next to him on the carpet. The thin blue cloth of the pajamas was looser than Quatre's usual khakis, and Heero gently rolled the soft material up above the bandaged knee. Heero could feel Quatre's eyes on him as he worked, but refused to take his gaze from the confident movement of his own hands. He carefully unwrapped the bandage to reveal darkly bruised skin. Deep purple and greenish-yellow patches mottled the pale surface of Quatre's knee, and Heero almost winced remembering Quatre's leap from Sandrock's cockpit. He had twisted his knee in battle several days ago, but simply wrapped it and continued. This was the first time he'd let anyone look at it, and was testament both to his total exhaustion and Heero's persistence.

"Heero?" The dark-eyed pilot looked up into Quatre's troubled expression.

"Hn?"

"How is Duo?" Heero blinked, the apparent randomness of the question catching him off guard.

"Duo is fine." He could sense Quatre wanted to hear more, so he added, "No injuries. As much of a nuisance as always."

"Has anyone been listening to him?"

"Hn?"

"Has anyone been listening to him talk?"

"Well, I suppose Wufei's been subjected to the most chatter, but you know how--"

"No, I mean really listening. Duo doesn't just talk to get a rise out of everyone. He needs someone to listen to him and I..." Quatre had become more and more distressed as he spoke, but all that emotion suddenly fell away, leaving the empty expression Heero so hated in the mirror. As he closed the first aid kit, he heard a soft emotionless voice. "The only person in the entire world who actually needs me and I abandoned him."

The simple statement cut straight to Heero's heart. Until the past few weeks, he never would have believed such a thing to come from the lips of his friend, but the last weeks had taught him a lot about Quatre that he never would have believed.

Heero pushed himself up onto the bed and took Quatre into his arms. He was careful of his injuries as he gently drew the smaller boy against him, turning so that Quatre's back rested against his own chest and he could wrap his arms around the other, smaller boy without looking into his face. Heero couldn't bare to see the terrible blankness on his friend's angelic features. Quatre was the one among them who could feel, not just for himself, but for them all. When any one of the pilots was hurt, Quatre shared their pain, and their joy, and their sorrow. This ability drew them together more than any other, and for the first time, led even Heero to admit that he needed another human being. Heero needed to know that someone felt his emotions; it absolved the guilt of not being able to express them himself. Without Quatre, Heero somehow knew he would simply fade from existence, a soulless monster that would disappear as soon as the war ended, never to be remembered, or missed. The emptiness of this future ached in the cobalt-eyed pilot, yet Quatre eased that raw void, filled it with a presence, and a confidence that maybe he would not have to remain emotionless forever, that one day the perfect soldier might be able to feel again. Quatre gave him something to fight for, something more than orders, and despite the perfect soldier's complete dedication to duty, orders meant nothing without a reason to carry them out.

Heero folded Quatre gently into his embrace, trying to express in action what became so difficult with words. He knew he had no right to hold the beautiful boy like this, but right now that didn't matter. He could not let Quatre go on believing such lies, and had to show him otherwise.

"I've betrayed another of my friends, first Trowa, and you, now Duo. I should be crying." The blond boy spoke softly, evenly, as though he were reading from a book, rather than revealing his soul. The tone was utterly expressionless, and Heero shivered as he listened. Quatre lifted one pale hand to his own face, to brush wonderingly at his equally white cheek. "But I'm not. I haven't shed a single tear since . . ." He laughed, a cold sound. "I can't remember when. Isn't that funny, Heero? Quatre, the crybaby, can't remember the last time he cried. Maybe I'm learning from the perfect soldier after all."

That hurt. Heero knew Quatre hadn't meant the remark as a jibe, but the aching emptiness inside him echoed the words like a cavern, bouncing the sting around his heart. No one should ever be emotionless. He had told Trowa to follow his emotions. How can one follow emotions if he doesn't feel? No one should be as stoic as himself, _ever_, but especially not Quatre.

Heero spun the smaller boy roughly around to face him, ignoring the tiny hiss of pain as this jarred several wounds. The lifeless eyes met his own steady gaze and he growled. "Stop it. Stop it now. You are _not_ like me, and you will never _be_ like me. No one will. You are better than that. You have emotions, and feel them more strongly than the rest of us combined. Never forget or lose that. I know that means you feel the pain of war more acutely, but that is why you must be the strongest. You _are_ the strongest. You are the compassion that keeps us from becoming the monsters OZ says we are. We will not lose you, Quatre." Heero punctuated every statement with a small shake, and Quatre cringed downward, his eyes falling to the bedspread. When his light eyes again met Heero's dark gaze, the mask had fallen away and the turmoil was written clearly in their cerulean depths.

His next words were so soft their whispered message barely reached Heero's ears, "I think you already have."

"No. I refuse to believe that, and I know you don't, either. If you were lost, you wouldn't still care about Duo, or Trowa." Heero caught the slow nod of assent and continued. "I did not drag you back up that cliff to have you disappear behind a mask."

Quatre's head was bowed, and Heero again drew him close, until his forehead was resting on his shoulder.

"As for Duo." Heero paused to think a moment. "I think Wufei may be listening more than we think. At least he hasn't done that baka any serious harm yet." He felt Quatre draw closer, listening, and nearly smiled when the blond head nestled against his neck. "Duo is a Gundam pilot. He can handle himself. You can't spend so much time worrying about the rest of us, or the rest of the world. You are in no position to be worrying about anyone but yourself right now." Heero could tell by the even breaths against his chest that Quatre was almost asleep, and finished quietly, "Everyone asks you for help, but you need to ask for help from others as well. I can't read your mind or your heart, Quatre. You have to ask."

"But you've already done so much," came the softly mumbled argument.

"And so have you. You have given me more than you know. Don't ever be afraid to ask anything of me."

"Arigatou, Heero."

Heero gently helped the smaller boy slide beneath the covers, being careful of his injuries. He flicked off the bedroom light, and the moon shone through the tall window, illuminating his form, sitting once again on the side of the bed.

"Is there anything else I can do before I leave?" he asked, quietly, only half expecting an answer.

"Y-yes." Quatre's small form was nearly lost beneath the thick blankets, but the soft moonlight danced on his pale hair like water, making the silken strands glow and sparkle. "Could you stay... with me... just until I go to sleep?" The request was hesitant, still unsure despite Heero's conviction.

"Of course." Heero laid down on top of the blankets next to Quatre, turning to face the other boy and admire the moonlight's handiwork. Quatre was turned partly away from him, trying to keep all his wounds at ease, but Heero could still see the slight smile that touched the pale lips.

"Arigatou, Heero."

Within moments, Quatre was sleeping soundly, finally giving in to the exhaustion, blood loss, and pain, but Heero did not leave. He remained at his friend's side, simply watching him sleep, and admiring the innocence that returned to the angelic face in slumber. He did not even notice, hours later, when the moon finally set behind the trees.

**x x x**

Notes: If anyone was confused, go read Blind Anger! That'll clear everything up, I promise, and if you've still got any questions, just email them to me and I'll let you know anything you want. Maybe even why the scientists are doing this in the first place... or at least my theory.

On that note, I've tried to get in touch with Cugami Michiru about posting this fic, but thus far have failed miserably. If anyone knows her, or a better way to get in contact than the message service, could you let her know that this exists? I hope she likes it, but will be more than happy to take it down if she doesn't approve. It is her original idea, after all. I'm just doing the fan fiction thing!


End file.
